Bad
"Should I feel bad that this might just be a kidnapping and not a murder?"
He'd seen the squint squad in action on murders and he had to admit that he rather enjoyed watching the gears spin and the computer whirr and the brains light up as they cranked out detail after detail during any one of the dozen or so murder investigations he'd worked on with them. But a kidnapping? Beyond Angela's killer computer chops, he wasn't entirely sure the others could offer up much more than Jennifer Warren's impressive identification from the finger.
Stark gave him the eye—the boss' evil eye—that he had already figured out meant that he had crossed a line and said something incredibly stupid or crass or any of a dozen other possibilities.
"Agent Aubrey, we want to bring the guy home," Stark drawled. "Alive, if this is a kidnapping. But first things first."
He made a curt nod—he couldn't argue with that—tried to make up for his miscue. "The squint's are trying to date the bone, make sure it's of recent vintage." He continued talking, recapping everything they had so far, partly to assure Stark he was going to be an asset, and partly to reassure himself he had all the details. ". . . And we're checking missing persons for any stray piano players, but nothing yet."
Stark rubbed the area above his left brow. "There's a cultural exchange going on at the Jeffersonian this week. Art, dance, that kind of thing. Dr. Saroyan is meeting with some international scientists." He had that faraway look in his eye. "Check on them."
"Sir?"
A hard look. "We have a finger and nothing else." He pointed toward the door. "Go. You're on scientist duty this week."